The ordeal of Paris has been renewed by shelling from the German long-distance gun, the last and most sensational of German surprise-packets.  These are indeed dark days, yet already lit by hopeful omens—­the closer union of the Allies, the appointment of the greatest French military genius, General Foch, as Generalissimo of the Allied Forces, and his calm assurance that we have as yet lost “nothing vital.”  America is pouring men into France and, without waiting to complete the independent organisation of her Army, has chivalrously sent her troops forward to be brigaded with French and British units.  Even now there are optimists, who are not fools, who maintain that Germany has shot her last bolt and knows that she is losing.  It is at least remarkable that German newspapers are daily excusing the failure of their offensive to secure all its objectives.  There is clearly something wrong with the time-table and, in the race of Man Power, time is on the side of the Allies.

Truth, long gagged and disguised, is coming to light in Germany.  This has been the month of the Lichnowsky disclosures—­the Memoir of their Ambassador, vindicating British diplomacy and saddling Germany with the responsibility for the War.  The time of publication is indeed unfortunate for the Kaiser, who has been telling us how bitterly he hates war.

[Illustration: 

THE COMING ARMY

FATHER:  “Here’s to the fighter of lucky eighteen!” SON:  “And here’s to the soldier of fifty!”]

  For now from German lips the world may know
    Facts that should want some skill for their confounding—­
  How Potsdam forced alike on friend and foe
    A war of Potsdam’s sole compounding.

  How you, who itched to see the bright sword lunged,
    Still bleating peace like innocent lambs in clover,
  In all that bloody business you were plunged
    Up to your neck and something over.

  And, having fed on little else but lies,
    Your people, with the hollow place grown larger
  Now that the truth has cut off these supplies,
    May want your head upon a charger.

[Illustration: 

THE DEATH LORD

THE KAISER (on reading the appalling tale of German losses):  “What matter, so we Hohenzollerns survive?”]

And what has England’s answer been, apart from the stubborn and heroic resistance of her men on the Western Front?  The answer is to be found in the immediate resolve to raise the age limit for service to 50, still more in the glorious exploit of Zeebrugge and Ostend, in the incredible valour of the men who volunteered for and carried through what is perhaps the most astonishing and audacious enterprise in the annals of the Navy.

The pageantry of war has gone, but here at least is a magnificence of achievement and self-sacrifice on the epic scale which beggars description and transcends praise.  The hornet’s nest that has pestered us so long, if not rooted out, has been badly damaged; our sailors, dead and living, have once more proved themselves masters of the impossible.